The Turtle-Duck
by Unfurled Sails
Summary: Zuko hates being weak, but what is the price of strength?


It is a warm, clear day, just maturing. The sun is not as high up as it will be. Zuko sits beside the pond, watching the water ripple now and then. He is bored. His mother, who usually accompanies him to the garden, is not here today. Her servants told him that she isn't feeling well. So, instead of talking and playing and lying down on the soft grass, Zuko just stares sullenly at the pond.

He hears rapid footfalls, muffled by the grass. It's Azula. She sits next to him, and he tries not to tense up. Not because of his sister, but because of his father. Wherever Azula is, Father is close by. Always. Zuko hates the way Father looks at him. Zuko's eyes scan the entrance of the royal garden, but Father hasn't arrived. Yet.

Azula looks at Zuko silently. He looks at the pond, trying to ignore her. But her stare is still there in his mind. He doesn't know what is going on in her head.

"She's not here today," she says.

"Mother's feeling a bit ill," Zuko mutters. A step away from the water's edge there's a point where the well trimmed grass ends and the ground becomes a gray strip of pebbles and rocks. He pushes a few of the stones with the tip of his pointed shoes.

Azula again shatters the peaceful quiet. "Then why are you here?" It's a simple enough question, but the way she says it, the bluntness, makes it wrong. Loaded.

He shrugs. "Bored, I guess."

She rolls her eyes, making sure he notices. Zuko twitches. He doesn't want her here, but there's no good way of telling her that. Maybe if he ignores her she will leave and go to Father and spar or do whatever they do together. He thinks of Mother. She must be really sick, or else why wouldn't she let him come and see her?

His sleeve is on fire.

"Aah!" he cries out, rolling to his side. He furiously pats down his sleeve. Rushes to the pond, dunks in his whole arm. Azula is laughing, tears coming out of her eyes. Zuko rolls up his sleeve. The flesh is tender, but not too badly burned. By the time he returns to his spot Azula is still laughing. "You should have seen your face!" she says, holding her stomach.

Thoughts fly through Zuko's brain, but he doesn't act on them. She's younger than him, and Father favors her. She can easily beat him if it comes to bending fire. So he doesn't even say anything. He ignores her, ignores himself, and sits back down a few paces away. One arm of his shirt is soaked. Eventually Azula's fit dies down. Zuko relishes her silence and looks further out, desperately looking for a distraction.

He finds it in the form of an orange bill and a green shell. At the other end of the pool swims a solitary turtle-duck. Weird, Zuko trinks (while rubbing his burnt wrist). Turtle-ducks usually swim together in a line. Mother in front, kids at the back. This one is not big enough to be a mom. Has it lost its way?

As if noticing Zuko's stare, the little creature crosses the pond, its brown webbed feet waggling visibly under the clear water. It gets out and waddles a couple steps on the wet stones, its shell swaying right and left. It stops and stares at Zuko with round, black eyes, their eyes meet, and then its head tilts to the side, as if it is as fascinated with him as he is fascinated with it. Zuko smiles; this is certainly the high point of his so far miserable day. If only Mother was here to see this!

A rock the size of a fist flies past the turtle-duck, barely missing it, and plops into the water.

Zuko visibly recoils, and the turtle-duck flees back into the pond in fear of its life, quacking. It streaks across the pond, its webbed feet moving a blur. It is not fast enough. Azula carefully picks another large rock and takes aim, her eyes full of delight and malice.

Zuko rushes over and knocks the stone from Azula's hand before she can let it fly. "What is wrong with you?" He sees something flash in her eyes, and realizes too late that this is what she wanted all along. She wanted him fired up and in her face. She sticks out a leg and hits Zuko on the knee. Zuko falls on the ground, hard.

"You're no fun, you know that, Zu-Zu?" she says, the fire in her hands creating ugly shadows on her face. "Yap yap yap. It's always don't do this, don't do that, it's dangerous, that poor thing. Come on, you want to protect that pathetic creature, fight me. I'll even go easy on you." She flicks a burst of orange at him, and he barely dodges it by scooting back on all fours. Another one, and the patch of grass right next to his head turns into ash.

Zuko, still on the ground and panicking, kicks out, but the fire misses Azula entirely. She barks out a laughter, clearly enjoying her brother's futile resistance. She catches his next try. Literally catches the fire like a ball. How is that even possible? Zuko's eyes widen. Then she throws his own fire back at him, like she threw the rock to the turtle-duck, slightly to his side. Zuko rolls the other way, and the flame dissipates harmlessly. But now he's too far gone to the edge of the pond. He, slips and falls in, head first, with a loud splash.

He surfaces, hair sticking to his forehead, drenched from head to toe. There are tears in his eyes. He sees a figure approaching from behind Azula. Hopes, for a desperate moment, that it's Mother.

"What is going on here?" Ozai demands. He looks at Azula, who is smirking, and then at Zuko, who is still in the pond. Zuko scrambles out of the water, making sure to keep his head down so that Ozai won't see him crying.

"We were playing, and Zuko fell," Azula says.

"Liar!" Zuko cries. He's on his knees and out of breath. "She attacked me!"

Ozai scoffs. "And you let her?"

"But-but-" Zuko is speechless, ashamed. Of course Father would side with her. Why did I even try?

Ozai puts a hand on the shoulder of a triumphant Azula. "If you are weak enough to be beaten by your younger sister, Zuko, then you deserve to be treated like this. And you know it." He taps on Azula's shoulder, and motions with a beckoning finger her to follow him. As the two leave the garden, Azula turns around and brings a hand to an eye, imitating Zuko's crying. Zuko looks after them as they leave. He's shivering and dripping wet, but he cannot move.

* * *

Weak.

His father called him weak. His own father.

Zuko is no stranger to feeling weak. Sometimes he feels useless when Father commented on his intellect, or abilities, or pretty much any time Father looks at Zuko, really looks at him. Zuko can see the disgrace and disappointment in his eyes.

No, Zuko is no stranger to feeling weak, but this time it is different. This time Father actually called him weak. And in front of his sister too! The shame is too great to bear silently. He buries his face in his pillow, but the flow of tears do not stop.

Usually at this point Mother would arrive and console him somehow, tell him that Father hadn't really meant those words, that this is simply his way of making Zuko stronger. He is to be the Fire Lord one day. He has to be strong, has to have a thick skin. Her words would soothe Zuko, make him believe Father loved him after all. But Mother is sick, sleeping off her illness in her private bedchamber.

It is dark now. The silver of the Moon slithers through the openings between curtains and falls on the carpet and walls in odd rectangular shapes. Zuko dries his eyes and pries open the curtains, revealing a stunning vista. From here he can see the lights coming from the noble and old clans that reside in the Caldera. A web of flickering yellow dots. He opens the window and starts to climb down.

He has done this before, but not at night, and not while wearing his sleeping gown. He just knows he cannot stay in his room a moment longer, and that he cannot stand risking another encounter with Azula in his condition. He would rather die. A breeze picks up his sleeping dress and he shivers, but his hands are practiced enough to carry him from one little knick on the Palace's facade to the other. He grabs and steps on protruding bricks, engravings, and window panes. When he finally lets go and falls, he knows his bare feet will land on soft grass. The effort of the short trip has invigorated him somewhat. He feels better.

As he walks the grass tickles his feet. He knows exactly where he is going, and, yes, soon enough he finds the pond, gleaming white and utterly still. He sits on where he sat earlier that day, takes in the cool air to his lungs, tries to recapture the fleeting peace he usually feels at this spot. Only here is he free of the worries and other weaknesses of the mind, only here he feels that he is enough and not lacking. And Azula took that from him today. Even the thought of her makes him frustrated. He lets go of his breath, and tries again.

A quack interrupts his thoughts. Zuko searches for its source, and sees the silhouette of a turtle-duck at the edge of the pond. He gradually builds a small flame, not too quickly, not too bright, over his hand. He examines the shape and color of the thing's shell, the shade of its bill. It is the exact same turtle-duck that Azula terrified earlier. It's not scared of the fire, which is reflected off his its round, black eyes. It quacks again, staring at Zuko. Why is it not with its family?

Maybe because it is weak, a voice in his head says. It sounds like Father. It's weak, so the rest of its kind doesn't want him.

Zuko picks up a rock with his free hand and hurls it at the turtle-duck. He hears the familiar plop of stone hitting water. The creature disappears under a wave. Zuko breathes rapidly, air coming in, out, in, out, as if he just sprinted a long way. He closes his eyes. When he opens them back up there is a dark, murky spot on the water.

Zuko's heart trips. He rushes to the edge of the pond on all fours. The circle of blood is expanding. He sees the turtle-duck floating away upside-down to the middle of the pond. It's not moving. Zuko jumps into the water, desperately wading through the knee deep water. He picks up the little thing with both hands. It's small enough to fit in a palm. There's a large gash on the turtle-duck's neck. Its bill opens and closes once, twice, and then it goes limp. Zuko just stands there, bloody hands cupped under an innocent creature that is no more.

He carries the corpse to a gathering of thickets at the side of the pond. He steps over the bushes, arriving at a grassless clearing large enough to stand on. He buries the turtle-duck there, clawing at the earth with his fingers. By the time he's finished only a slight mound indicates that the ground might have been disturbed. Wet and cold, he washes his dirty, bloody hands in the pond. The water is already dissipating any evidence of what happened. He crosses his arms over his chest, and watches as the last remnants of blood disappear.

By the time he climbs back into his room he can feel the rising sun approaching. He resists crumpling on the pristine carpet and falling asleep right there. There's earth under his fingernails, he notices passively. He should do something about that, otherwise Mother might suspect something.

His mother always makes sure there was a pitcher and a bowl in his chambers, and makes a point about reminding Zuko to wash his hands as often as possible. For most days this is a nuisance, but now it is a blessing. Zuko cleans up his hands meticulously, scrubbing them raw, picking at every bit of dirt. The bowl in the water turns brown. He accidentally sinks one nail too far underneath the other, and the pain makes him hiss. A few drops of red joins the muddy water.

He swipes at the bowl with such ferocity it sails through the air and shatters on the wall. Silent tears flow from his eyes, and there is nothing he could do other than bring his hands to his face and cry them out.

* * *

Funny he's here by the pond again today, but where else is he going to go? The Palace is impossible; the walls around him make him feel like he's suffocating. Outside, there are not many places where he can be alone. He doesn't want guards or servants. Which leaves the garden, and the pond.

He feels terrible. He knows he has slept for less than an hour, but every time he closes his eyes he's suddenly afraid of going to sleep. He props himself on his elbows and looks at the spot he killed the turtle-duck. He wonders whether its family has even noticed their missing member. He knows Azula will come here again in a few hours after finishing her studies, to see if Zuko is still here. He has to leave before then...

Someone's prodding him. Zuko jolts awake, sees Azula's awful grin. He curses himself for falling asleep. His neck is sore.

"You have a nice bed inside, you know," she says.

"Go away, Azula."

She pouts. "I spend my precious free time with my dear brother, and that's what I get? I guess you're too busy protecting pathetic animals to spend time with your sister."

No more. Zuko grabs the closest stone and throws it at her. It smacks her right on the nose. Next thing he knows he is upon her, sitting on her chest, pinning her down with his larger weight. He's pressing his forearm on her throat. Her eyes are wide open, betraying a mixture of horror and incredulity that he finds extremely satisfying. Blood flows freely from her nose and several other gashes that he doesn't remember inflicting. Zuko leans on his arm, feels her windpipe strain under the pressure. Just a bit more...

Zuko hears Father call out his name and then the earth next to him bursts open as if it's filled with air and someone pricked it. The force of the blast throws Zuko off to his side, relinquishing his hold on his sister. Azula's hands immediately shoot up to her throat. She coughs and sputters, spewing blood everywhere. She rocks on the ground, wailing loudly. Zuko stares at her. He should feel horrified, disgusted with himself, or maybe afraid of what Father might do to him when he arrives. But he feels nothing of the sort.

He sees Father in the striding towards him, his hands still smoking. Yet when his severe face comes into view Zuko sees that his father's face does not show any anger at what Zuko has done. He strides past Zuko and pulls up a teary eyed Azula by her shoulders. Zuko sees her bloody face, her already bruising throat, and feels like throwing up. Azula tries to talk, pointing at Zuko, but Father sends her away with a firm and final push. She runs away without looking at Zuko. Ozai looks at Zuko, directly at his eyes, until her footfalls are out of earshot. "Explain this."

He has no explanation, so he says the only thing he knows with certainty. "She deserved it, and you know it, Father."

It is then something amazing and terrible happens. A smile flits across Father's face. The way he looks at Zuko is unfamiliar. They hold the beginnings of approval, a reserved admiration. It is terrifying. With a nod, Father turns and walks out of the garden, following the path that Azula took. Zuko's bloodshot eyes follow the tall, strong figure as it departs. His eyes then turn to the bushes where the broken remains of the innocent creature he murdered lies.

A simple, primal dread fills him.


End file.
